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The Aoba Johsai gym buzzed with tension, the heavy air thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation. The scoreboard glared red: 24-15, set point for Karasuno.
The end of the first set hung in the balance, a single moment away from being claimed.
Hinata Shoyo stood at the baseline, the ball cradled in his hands.
His breathing was steady, shoulders rising and falling with deliberate rhythm.
Across the net, Aoba Johsai's formation tensed. Kindaichi scowled, his jaw clenched tight. Yahaba's eyes darted between teammates, alert. Kunimi, usually unreadable, shifted his weight uneasily.
They were expecting another jump serve. That was the plan.
Hinata tossed the ball high, his body composed but intentional. Instead of a powerful jump, he executed a soft serve.
The ball twisted midair, veering subtly but sharply as it descended into the tight left corner near Kunimi.
The wing spiker hesitated—caught between stepping in or pulling back—and chose wrong.
His late dive sent the ball wobbling upward, a chaotic arc that barely cleared the net before floating back onto Karasuno's side.
No point change. Still 24-15. But now the ball was theirs.
"Nice one, Hinata!" Tanaka whooped from the back row, fists pumping. "Messed 'em up good!"
Hinata grinned wide, jogging back to his position. "Thanks!" he called, cheeks flushed but eyes locked in. This wasn't over yet.
Kageyama was already in motion, his legs carrying him beneath the incoming ball.
Hands raised, fingers poised, his eyes flicked quickly across the court. Aoba Johsai had shifted—Watari crouched low, Matsukawa and Hanamaki closing in on the net, blocking lanes. They expected the ball to go to Hinata or Tanaka.
Hinata darted from the back row like a bullet, drawing attention. Kindaichi's head followed him.
At the same time, Tanaka charged in from the right, a powerful presence, arm already cocked for the spike.
Matsukawa bit—jumped with Tanaka to form the double block.
Kageyama didn't even glance their way. His hands moved last second—a precise, feather-light setter dump.
The ball slipped through the narrowest gap and dropped just over the net, untouched, landing with a dull thud in the empty front zone.
Point.
25-15.
Set one—Karasuno.
A beat of silence, like the gym had forgotten how to breathe. Then—
"HELL YEAH!" Tanaka roared, pumping both fists into the air as he rushed forward, tackling Kageyama in a full-bodied embrace. "Sneaky bastard! I love it!"
"Get off me!" Kageyama snarled, trying to pry Tanaka's arm off his shoulder with visible irritation, though a ghost of a grin pulled at his mouth.
Hinata landed light and quick, then darted into the crowd of teammates, high-fiving Daichi.
"That's how we do it!" the captain shouted, grinning from ear to ear.
Tsukishima adjusted his glasses with a faint, smug smirk. "That setter dump was unnecessarily showy."
"Still worked," Yamaguchi replied, clapping his hands and bouncing lightly on his feet.
In the back, Ennoshita clapped steadily, face calm but proud.
Sugawara stood, a wide smile on his face. "Brilliant finish!" he said, voice ringing with genuine admiration.
Kiyoko, clipboard in hand, gave a small approving nod, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly. "Well played," she murmured to herself.
On Aoba Johsai's side, the silence lingered longer.
Kindaichi kicked at the floor, his frustration boiling over. "A damn setter dump? Seriously?"
Yahaba shook his head, arms crossed. "The orange-haired guy pulled us all over the court. Then that. They're trickier than they look."
Kunimi wiped the sweat from his brow, lips thinning. "Didn't see it coming. Just got played."
Iwaizumi stood near the net, fists clenched at his sides.
His eyes didn't leave Karasuno's court. He didn't speak—but the tightness in his jaw said enough.
Up in the stands, Aoba Johsai's head coach, Nobuteru Irihata, leaned toward his assistant, Mizoguchi Sadayuki, voice low and sharp. "That wasn't luck. Karasuno's more dangerous than we expected. Let's start breaking it down."
Mizoguchi adjusted his clipboard, nodding briskly. "Kageyama Tobio, the setter—what's your read?"
Irihata's eyes locked onto Kageyama, who was now ordering his teammates into the post-set lineup. "That kid's a monster. Precision, aggression, and complete control. Those quicks? They're like lightning. That dump? Pure instinct. He's got Kitagawa Daiichi running through his blood—top-tier setter instincts."
Mizoguchi scribbled, pen flying. "Captain—Daichi Sawamura?"
"Third-year, wing spiker. Not flashy, but solid. His leadership's obvious. Takes hits, holds the team together. Every good play's got him somewhere in the background."
"Tanaka Ryunosuke?"
"Back row now, but still a middle blocker. Pure power. Reckless, but his energy keeps them burning. That spike he landed early? Nearly rattled Watari. He's fire, and fire's contagious."
Mizoguchi pointed discreetly. "Ennoshita?"
"Second-year, wing spiker. Quiet, but reliable. That floater from our team should've been dead. He kept it alive. Doesn't make noise—but he fills holes."
"Tsukishima Kei?"
"First-year, middle blocker. Tall, calculating. Blocked Hanamaki and stuffed Matsukawa. He's got game sense—cocky, but not baseless."
Finally, Mizoguchi looked down at his notes. "Hinata Shoyo?"
Irihata exhaled slowly, leaning forward. "That kid's unreal. First-year, wing spiker, and what—170 centimeters? But he jumps like he's got springs in his legs. Blasted through triple blocks, shut down Kindaichi and Kunimi. His receive? Nailed that last point. He's all over the place. And every movement is deliberate. I don't know where he came from, but we need to stop him."
Mizoguchi blinked. "He's doing everything. Spike, receive, block… as a first-year?"
"Yeah," Irihata said. "Kageyama might be the brain, Daichi the backbone—but Hinata's the spark. That kid's unpredictable, and you can't relax when he's on the court. We underestimated them."
Their conversation ended abruptly as the gym doors creaked open.
A ripple passed through the Aoba Johsai bench. Heads turned. Even the crowd stirred.
Oikawa Tooru had arrived.
He strode into the gym with easy grace, tall and lean, his warmup jacket hanging open, hair tousled in that infuriatingly perfect way.
His steps were unhurried, and yet his presence shifted the air—like the atmosphere itself recognized him.
Iwaizumi turned, arms crossed. "Took you long enough."
Oikawa grinned lazily. "Oh, Iwa-chan~ you sound so worried. Did you miss me?"
Irihata stood, waving him over. "Oikawa! First set's over. Karasuno took it. 25-15."
Oikawa's grin faltered for a fraction of a second—just long enough to register. Then it widened, all charm and challenge. "Oh? The wingless crows clipped us already? How tragic." He stepped closer to the court, eyes scanning Karasuno.
"Tobio-chan's being naughty, I see. And who's that orange firecracker? He looks… fun."
"Hinata Shoyo," Irihata said plainly. "First year. He plays like he's possessed. Don't take him lightly."
Oikawa's eyes gleamed, a spark of something sharp behind the usual teasing lilt. "I wouldn't dream of it." He turned to Iwaizumi and patted his shoulder. "Leaving me to clean up your mess? Cruel, Iwa-chan."
"Shut up and warm up," Iwaizumi growled, swatting him away. "They're no joke."
"Fine, fine," Oikawa hummed, grabbing a ball and twirling it on his finger. "Time to show them what a real setter looks like."
As he jogged toward the court, his movements turned smooth, precise. The playfulness faded, replaced by focus.
Aoba Johsai's players straightened. Energy surged back into the team like electricity through a wire.
Karasuno huddled together near the sideline.
Daichi's voice was calm but serious. "Good work. But stay sharp. Their captain's on now."
Hinata peeked over his shoulder, watching Oikawa stretch with effortless control. A shiver ran down his spine—but it wasn't fear.
It was anticipation.
Excitement.
The real match was just beginning.
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To be continued…